“Nothing. Stay inside.”
But I knew it wasn’t nothing.
I walked out to the porch.
One man stepped forward.
Him.
The same biker from that morning.
He took off his helmet.
Streetlight hit his face.
Same eyes.
But now… there was something else in them.
“You live here?” he asked.
I nodded.
“What’s this about?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Just glanced around the house. The yard. The porch light.
Then back at me.
“Do you remember a gas station… about twelve years ago?” he asked.
“Where?”
“Off the north highway. Late at night.”
Something shifted in my chest.
I wasn’t sure yet.
But I felt it.
“There was a kid,” he continued. “Sitting outside. It was cold. No one around.”
The memory came slowly.
Like something buried under years of routine.
A night drive.
An empty station.
A kid curled up on the curb.
I swallowed.
“…That was you?”
He nodded.
Barely.
“You gave me a sandwich,” he said. “And a ride into town.”
I exhaled.
